The Price of Cowardice
by RainyDaysAndGoodBooks
Summary: James Potter tries to take an Arithmancy exam, but all he can remember is last night and all the things he should have done but didn't, and how now, his little sister is lying in the hospital wing, and he isn't sure if she'll ever be okay.
**Team: Kenmare Kestrels**

 **Position: Chaser 3**

 **Write about someone preparing for or taking an exam on the subject.**

 **Prompts:**  
 **1\. (dialogue** **) "You won't need any sun cream; it's not even that sunny!"**

 **2\. (word) throw**

 **3\. (word) light**

*9:07, Tuesday the 21st*

The quill hangs loosely in his pale fingers; its painfully white fibers meld with the fresh cream color of his parchment. The scratching of quills surrounds him, but he makes no effort to lift his own. What subject is he in? Oh, Arithmancy. It doesn't matter; he can't focus. His head's too full of the shrieks and shouts of last night, and his eyes are too full of the sideways glances of his classmates. Do they mean something or is it just his overrun imagination?

*5:32, Monday the 20th*

" _Come on, Lil, let's go to the lake."_

 _"It's too hot out, James. You know how easily I burn. I just ran out of my last tube of sun cream, and besides, I need to finish my Charms homework." Her words are full of exasperation._

 _"Work can wait. And you won't need any sun cream; it's not even that sunny!"_

 _"You just want to show off for the girls at the lake."_

" _No! Lils, I just want to hang out with you."_

 _"I don't know . . ." She bites her lip uncertainly._

 _"Please, Lily, it'll be loads of fun."_

 _"Well, alright."_

*9:07, Tuesday the 21st*

What question is he on? He hasn't even filled out the date. Vector probably won't care. Carefully, he scans the first question: What is the significance of/span a seven placed three spaces from a double 9? He doesn't know. He can't even remember learning this. 'Focus, James, focus,' he tells himself firmly.

*7:13, Monday the 20th*

" _James, let's go back."_

 _"What! Lily! We've hardly swum at all."_

 _"It's getting dark, and I already told you, I need to finish my homework."_

" _Come on, just one more lap."_

 _"Make it quick." She sounds weary._

*9:11, Tuesday the 21st*

The quill slips out of his hand and bounces off the floor with a faint clink. The girl in front of him bends to pick it up from the corner of her chair leg, her long, wavy hair glinting in the light streaming in from the window. She turns to him as she holds out the quill, looking concerned. "Here," she whispers, gazing at him in bemusement when he fails to respond for a moment. He grasps his quill but doesn't reply. She's a nobody who still wears sparkly hair clips and he's still hoping nobody saw that. Does she know what happened? Who else does? Everyone? What about his reputation?

*7:35, Monday the 20th*

" _We're the only ones left at the lake. Those girls that were watching you are gone now." She gives him a fierce glare._

 _"_ Alright _, Lily. I'm coming."_

 _"Finally. I've waited long enough."_

 _"It was only five minutes."_

 _"James. The sun's gone down. It was still light when I got out."_

" _Well_ . . ."

*9:15, Tuesday the 21st*

"45 minutes left," the reedy voice of Professor Vector slices through the air. James skips his fifth question. There must be something that he knows. Arithmancy is normally so easy. "It's just numbers," he likes to tell Roxanne, chortling as her face turns redder and redder, hair hanging in waves along her scrunched up eyebrows. But now it's him with the scrunched up eyebrows. 'If a seven is placed behind a three and in front of a 9, it stands for good luck,' he remembers. James wishes he had a whole castle full of that. Maybe then he could find a time turner.

*7:52, Monday the 20th*

" _James, there's something watching us." Lily's voice is tinged with fear._

 _"Very funny, Lily." He rolls his eyes._

" _I'm serious_ , _" she says, frustration now seeping into her words_.

 _He grins at the opportunity. "No, I'm-"_

" _James. Look behind us."_

 _"Holy-. What is that?" He stops in astonishment, eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of him._

 _"You mean: what are those?"_

 _"There's more than one?!"_

*9:23, Tuesday the 21st*

He's still stuck on the same problem, quill poised just above his parchment as ink drips slowly down into pitch black puddle, but he makes no move to stem the leak. If a six is made negative and raised to the third it . . . what? James feels like someone's clogged his brain, as though all his knowledge has seeped away, and he sits unable to do anything but bathe in a memory too freshly made to relive.

*8:00, Monday the 20th*

" _James . . . I'm scared." Her voice trembles._

 _"We'll be fine. They're probably just stray foxes or something." He tries to sound flippant_.

 _"Those aren't foxes."_

 _"Well, alright. Let's just walk a little faster."_

*9:29, Tuesday the 21st*

The boy behind him coughs and covers his mouth with the back of his palm absent-mindedly. The gesture is so Lily that James almost can't breathe. James knows this kid, Aaron Owens. He knows that he plays the flute on the grounds sometimes, but only when no one can hear it, and hates homework but loves tests, and that he has a big brother who perpetually drags him on adventures. Why weren't he and his brother out last night? Why couldn't it have been him instead of Lily? Maybe they could have saved her or maybe they couldn't have, but the fact remains that Aaron Owens is safe and sound in his worn wooden desk, and Lily Potter is lying lifelessly in a hospital bed. James would sacrifice a thousand Owens' if only he and Lily could have made it out unscathed.

*8:06, Monday the 20th*

" _They're getting closer, James!" Her voice rises hysterically._

" _Take my hand, Lily. On the count of three, we'll run for the castle, sound good?" He tries to muster an encouraging smile, but he's too busy trying not too focus on the panic in her face._

 _"I don't think we'll be able to outrun them."_

 _"One."_

 _"Oh, Merlin, I think I'm going to be sick."_

 _"Two."_

 _"James, I don't know if I can do it. What if they try to kill us?"_

 _"Three."_

*9:36, Tuesday the 21st*

567 stands for chance. Was it chance that brought them out there at precisely the wrong moment or was it James's stupidity? What chance did Lily have to survive? What were the chances that it wasn't his fault? 'None,' he tells himself. 'Zero percent,' he says in his head as though he is a weatherman who has just doomed a whole town to a tornado but can't bring himself to act as though he cares.

*8:08, Monday the 20th*

" _Lily, come on. Let's go. We have to go. Lily!"_

 _"James, they're acromantulas. Do you know how deadly they are?!" Her breathing is short and shallow,_

" _Lily, run. We don't have time for this."_

 _"Oh, my Merlin. What are we going to do? What are we going to do!"_

 _"Run. I told you we have to go, now!"_

 _"Look at that big, hairy one over there. It's heading straight toward us!" Her hand flies to her mouth, muffling a small scream of terror._

*9:42, Tuesday the 21st*

He scratches a clumsy "765" onto the paper and stares at it for an abnormally long minute before his brain finally tells him that he's written it backwards. 765 is 'the cowards number.' He certainly knows enough about cowardice. He's Lily Potter's grandson and Harry Potter's son and practically the star of Gryffindor, so why does he not have the courage he should? Everyone always assumes he does, that James is so brave, and so did he . . . until last night. James wishes he was brave so fervently that the knuckles clenching his quill turn a pale pinkish-white, but it is already too late. And then, a thousand times harder than he wished he was brave, he wishes that everyone still believed he was brave.

*8:11, Monday the 20th*

" _James! Where are you going! JAMES! JAMES!" Her voice is pleading._

 _"Run, Lily, run, we have to leave."_

"I can't. I can't. My legs are shaking too hard. Help! James!" She's almost sobbing now.

 _"I- Get out of there Lily!"_

" _Please don't leave me. Please don't." She's full-out crying now, tears running in torrents down her face. Her fiery red hair is dishevelled and billows out behind her in the wind._

 _"I'll get help, Lily."_

*9:47, Tuesday the 21st*

Somebody's cloak brushes past his desk, light as a butterfly's wing, as they slip out of the classroom. James watches them go, wishing he could follow. But then again, he'd only be running away again, and what if someone saw him? He almost curses himself for being so self-centered, but the taste of disappointing those that admire him lingers on his tongue, and he dismisses it. Why didn't he fight off the acromantulas last night? He'd have been a hero, the front cover of every magazine. The indignity is only made worse by the hissing voice in his head that reminds him of his father's encounter with acromantulas and how he escaped Scot-free _and_ saved a dog. That's the difference between James and heroes: heroes save puppies and always do the right thing. James just doesn't care enough (or _maybe_ he's just not _brave_ enough). 'I'm still a good person,' he reminds himself. He's probably helped more people than Hogwarts contains _except for Lily._

*8:12, Monday the 20th*

" _Please, James, please. I need you." She sounds so desperate that he almost hates himself._

" _I'll be back soon, Lily."_

*9:56, Tuesday the 21st*

Someone is calling his name. He jerks up, startled and, at the same time, accidentally throws his quill to the floor. A man is standing in the doorway. His ash grey beard is trimmed so neatly it seems out-of-place in the creaking castle full of clumsy, long-limbed teenagers. "You may turn in your exam, Mr. Potter, and then this man will take you to the hospital wing."

"To see Lily?" he blurts out, already regretting his overly eagerly tone as the eyes of his classmates widen subtlety at his words.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Professor Vector replies. Time seems to slow to a crawl. He is vaguely aware of sliding his almost entirely blank test onto the cool wood of Professor Vector's desk, and slipping his bag onto his shoulder, but his mind is screaming, 'Lily, Lily, Lily. Has she told anybody what really happened? Is she awake? Is she alright?' The dryness of James's mouth is unbearable.

"Are you ready?" the man with the neat grey beard calls imperiously. His voice sounds like gravel sliding down a mountain slope, rough and harsh. James grips his bag tightly and shuts the door behind him.


End file.
